


When can we go back?

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daisy deserves all the love in the world, Daisy is an unreliable narrator, F/M, Happy Ending, Missing (?) scene, One-Sided Attraction, Phil Coulson Feels, Sappy Ending, Skye | Daisy Johnson Feels, Will be jossed in 2 hours or so, ish, post 4x04, sooort of, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: “If this is making you uncomfortable, I can get someone else,” Coulson said, and Daisy noticed for the first time his own discomfort. Guilt crashed over her again. He was just trying to help, and she looked miserable. He probably thought he was doing something inappropriate. Or maybe he knew she was thinking about him doing something inappropriate. But who else but Coulson could be with her in this moment? 'There’s no one else who wants to help me.'“There’s no one else I want to help me.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I should only write funny things sorryyyyy

Daisy didn’t know why she was surprised at the quiet knock on her door. She knew the moment she agreed to stay, there was no way she was just going to be left to her own devices to fall asleep. Whether it was Simmons' tired insistence that she get _proper_ treatment or the way Mack looked at her, constantly with some words at the tip of his tongue he seemed reluctant to say… _Or._

The answer was ‘or’ she realized, as she opened the door to find Coulson.

“Hey,” she said, awkwardly, knowing he had probably been waiting to give her enough time to change. “Sorry,” she gestured to the pile of SHIELD issued sweats still sitting on her bed. “I--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Coulson said, walking right by her through the door.

“Come in,” Daisy muttered as she closed the door, less annoyed than amused. And a little heartbroken. She had missed him so much. She was supposed to work on that, and already knew that it was going to be even harder to leave now.

“Simmons gave me a couple things you might need. That you do need,” he said, placing a few items on the desk.

Daisy leaned back against the door, raising an exhausted eyebrow. “I take it she didn’t want to bring them herself?”

Coulson looked up at her, with something that looked like hurt quickly masked with a neutral expression, and Daisy winced. “I--sorry, she’s probably better suited to this,” he said. “I can go get her if you prefer--?”

She shook her head at that. “No, no, this is fine.” Daisy saw his eyes dart over to the sweats on her bed. She really should have changed, it was just too difficult one-handed, on top of being tired. She hadn’t even gotten her jacket off. “What did you bring me?”

Coulson pointed at a small handful of pill bottles. “Pain meds, ranging from ‘keeps you awake’ to what I’ve only heard referred to as ‘twilight sleep.’ Bandages, antibiotic ointment,” he said, looking at her shoulder. “Simmons said you might need those.” Daisy remembered the bullet hole in her shoulder.

_Right. That._

“These,” he said, lifting two black arm braces, “are supposed to help speed up healing in your arms.” They looked like more stripped down versions of her gauntlets, and she felt guilt gnawing at her, knowing they must have been made while she was gone.

‘ _Off being a vigilante.’_

Daisy wanted to be mad, she really did. And she felt like it would be justified. But she left to avoid causing the people she loved pain, and she somehow managed to do both. Fitz, Simmons, Mack, their faces said it all, and what their faces didn’t say, they made sure to say themselves.

She was still waiting for Coulson to unload on her, because if anyone had a right to be hurt by her abandonment, it was him. They were supposed to be close, and she was throwing that away without consulting him.

But she didn’t regret leaving, especially knowing that the registration system was just as vulnerable as she suspected. And she couldn’t regret caring about them as much as she did. _Especially him._

So she would just wait for the next steps. Take it one thing at a time.

“Are you comfortable?”

Pulled out of her reverie, Daisy looked at Coulson who was eyeing her dirty--and not entirely comfortable-- ensemble.

Too tired to lie, Daisy shook her head. If she could, she would lift her arm, but Coulson seemed to get it anyway. He hesitated for just a moment before assuming his ‘Agent Face.’

“Let me help you,” he said, and Daisy let him carefully take the jacket off her shoulders, fingers brushing hers as they curled into the cuff to ease the sleeve down her arm. She hissed slightly at the pain, but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to at this point. Placing her jacket over the desk chair, he grabbed the gauntlets.

“Do you want to put these on now? They should be small enough to get through your sleeves.” He looked nervous, and if she were naive she would think it might be because of the prospect of helping her undress. But she saw the way he looked at her arm, like it was made of glass that had already cracked.

He wasn’t that far off.

Wanting to appease him, she lifted her left arm gently with her right. With painful consideration he wrapped the brace around it, fastening it securely but carefully. _He’s not even breathing,_ she observed. It was almost the same face he made that one time they played Operation. She wasn’t sure why she found that as funny as she did.

Once that one was done she swore he exhaled, lowering her arm back down slowly, until it was at her side. “The other?” He asked, and Daisy obliged, letting him repeat the process there.

The braces actually felt okay, like they were holding her arms together (which was essentially what they were doing) and keeping them snugly in place without squeezing too hard. Coulson seemed relieved as well, and Daisy was almost tempted to tell him that she wouldn’t shatter if he touched her.

She wouldn’t say that though. For one, she wasn’t sure it was true, and for another...well, she’d had a lot of time in her own head lately. No small amount of it was spent wondering what Coulson would do in a scenario like this. How he would react to her doing things like telling him to touch her, asking him to get even closer. Given everyone else’s reaction to her reappearance, she wasn’t taking any chances.

_It could make it easier to leave…_

She pushed that thought away.

“Let me look at your shoulder,” Coulson said, pulling the desk chair over so she could sit down. Daisy obliged, and with her back turned was only able to imagine what his face looked like as he carefully unbandaged her bullet wound. He didn’t make a peep, cleaning it up a bit and putting on some clean bandages before stepping back. “So, do you want any of these? Could help you get some sleep.” Daisy turned and looked at Coulson as he examined the pill bottles.

_‘Self-medicating?'_

“I don’t think--”

“These ones are good,” he said, lifting one of the bottles up and reading the label. “They don’t leave you feeling groggy.” His other hand seemed to absently rub at his thigh, right above the knee.

“I’ll take one of those, then.”

Coulson popped one out of the bottle and handed it to her, followed by a bottle of water. He put both back on the desk, clearly planning on leaving them there.

Daisy didn’t have a problem, but still the indication that he was trusting her to take as much (or as little) as she needed was reassuring. Moving over to the bed, Coulson picked up the SHIELD sweats and placed them on the desk as well.

“Do you want help?” He asked, as if he was offering to help rearrange furniture and not undress her.

“Thanks,” Daisy said, and held her arms out. The new arm braces didn’t allow for much movement so she just held them still as Coulson lifted the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, then down around her arms. His mouth turned down grimly as he looked at the back of it, stiff with dried blood.

“Not sure how I’d explain that to the dry cleaners,” Daisy joked, but Coulson just dropped it into a mesh bag she hadn’t noticed on the floor. _Right. This plane has a laundry room._

She wouldn’t deny it, the idea of clean-- _really_ clean-- clothes was kind of exciting. Looking back up at Coulson, she jumped at little as she noticed he’d been staring very pointedly at her face.

“Um,” Daisy muttered, looking down at her sports bra. That would also need to come off. “How about--” She turned around so her back faced him. “Don’t want to ruin your hard work,” she said, jostling her injured shoulder slightly.

“This doesn’t have a clasp,” Coulson observed, the frown obvious in his voice. Daisy tried not to be too amused at the idea of Coulson talking about different types of bras. _Removing_ different types of bras.

“Sorry, you might need to get creative.”

“How high can you lift your arms up?”

Okay, so he clearly wasn’t in a talkative mood. Swallowing down the despair at his terse voice, she lifted her arms up and tried not to jump too blatantly when his fingers slid under the band of her bra. How long had it been, since she had real human contact with someone that wasn’t clinical, or fighting for her life?

 _This_ is _clinical,_ she reminded herself as the item of clothing was painstakingly removed, and her shoulders burned at the motion. She wasn't meant to think about how warm his hands were, or what his fingers felt like brushing against her as they removed her clothes.  _This is a medical necessity, not--_ finally able to slide the bra down her arms she did so quickly, keeping her back turned as she handed it to him and he put it in the laundry bag.

Behind her back she could hear Coulson grab the shirt from the desk, then hesitate. He cleared his throat. “Could you--”

She turned, face heating up just a little as she let him ease the t-shirt over her arms and her head, letting it fall down and cover her fully. She couldn’t tell you if he looked because she didn’t dare look herself. This was not the time for her to think about this, to look at him this way. He was just trying to be helpful, and probably waiting for her to stop looking too pathetic to be angry with.

He wasn’t even director anymore. Maybe he didn’t really love the job--she wasn’t sure she loved what it had done to him, or made him do-- but losing it still had to sting. Especially if it was because of her. If Mack and FitzSimmons had had a hard time without her around, how bad was it for Coulson? She wouldn’t be so conceited as to think she was the only person in his life, but she knew how important he was-- _had been--_ in hers. And she’d left him.

“If this is making you uncomfortable, I can get someone else,” Coulson said, and Daisy noticed for the first time his own discomfort. Guilt crashed over her again. He was just trying to help, and she looked miserable. He probably thought he was doing something inappropriate. Or maybe he knew she was thinking about him doing something inappropriate, _wanting_ him to. But who else but Coulson could be with her in this moment? 

_There’s no one else who wants to help me._

“There’s no one else I want to help me.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked kind of sad, as if he knew both reasons without her saying them. It would be like Coulson, she thought, to be sad about being the only person she wanted with her. As if he was some sort of last resort, not her first and only choice.

 _Why do you think I left?_ She wanted to ask suddenly. Did he think he mattered to her so little when leaving him meant possibly saving him?

As she thought about it, about the effects of her choices on him, he’d already rolled her jeans down her legs and tossed them into the laundry bag, letting her absently hold his shoulder for balance as he helped her step into the clean, soft SHIELD sweatpants.

She’d been gone for nearly a year and her longest encounter with Phil Coulson was him dressing ( _and undressing_ ) her. Daisy would laugh if she didn’t think it would lead to crying.

But the crying would probably happen anyway, she thought, as she felt his warm palm rest against her cheek. Daisy leaned into it, not knowing how long the affection would last, when he would remember how mad he was at her for abandoning him.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain,” he said quietly, in that Coulson voice that managed to make her both incredibly happy and deeply sad.

“I should have been more careful,” Daisy said, flexing her fingers delicately, watching them as if they might break too.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Daisy looked up sharply, meeting his eyes. He wasn't mad, _still_. Just sad for her, in pain because she was in pain. She kept staring, at that face she had gone without for so long, and realized there was something else there too.

“How can you be happy right now?”

Coulson’s hand fell away from her cheek and he stepped back, shocked. “What? I’m not _happy_ , Daisy, you’re--” he gestured to her arm, her cheek, her shoulder, every bruised and broken part of her. Daisy stood her ground, needing to know that she’d seen what she thought she’d seen. Coulson stared her down for a moment, then his hand dropped, and his shoulders drooped in resignation. He looked at the floor, almost ashamed. “You’re here.”

Hindered from doing what she really wanted while encased in those arm braces, Daisy tugged frantically at Coulson’s shirt until he got the picture, pulling her into a fierce hug. Burying her face in his shirt, ignoring every part of her that told her _stop caring about him_ , and _be ready to leave again at any moment_ , Daisy pressed her lips firmly to the spot above his heart. It was all she could do for now. But she didn't know if she'd ever have the chance to do more. 

“Say it?” She asked, and Coulson squeezed her even tighter.

“I’m happy you’re here.”

She knew there would be crying eventually.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If this weren't time sensitive I wouldn't post it right before a new episode, sorry guys!


End file.
